A Doomed Escape? (PruCan)
by QueenDooter
Summary: Matthew Williams wants to escape- escape from his father, escape from his past, and escape from everyone who never notices him. And if he doesn't find a way by the end of this school year, he's gonna do- he'll end his miserable life. But then Matthew meets Gilbert, and his hope is starting to come back. Will he be able to get away, or this a doomed escape? PruCan, BoyxBoy, Yaoi
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- Obviously, I don't own Hetalia or it's characters. If I did, there would be a lot more PruCan . . .

_**Edited: October 26, 2013**_

_**And good God damn. that was a lot of editing.**_

Morning light poured down on the city of Winnipeg- capital city of Manitoba, Canada- making dew sparkle, animals stir, and high schoolers begrudgingly get out of bed. One specific student is having trouble with that last one. As light coming through the window hit his face, Matthew Williams let out a groan and rolled over to hide in his pillow. _Do I really have to get up?_ he thought to himself. _Is it really worth it to leave this comfy, cozy bed . . ._ His thoughts trailed off as his mind wondered back into dream land. And then he heard a snore from downstairs. His father's snore. All traces of sleep fled at the reminder of what waited for Matthew if he wasn't gone by the time his father woke up.

Throwing the covers back, Matthew jumped to his feet- and then almost fell to the ground as a burning pain laced the back of his legs.

_ That's right_, he thought as he hobbled over to his dresser- where he had bandages, Neosporin, Aspirin, hydrogen peroxide, and pain relief ointment- _he hit the back of my knees last night when I tried to get away._

In a practiced manner Matthew quickly pinpointed the worst of the bruises, rubbed some ointment on them and bandaged any cuts he could reach (the ones on his shoulder blades would just have to heal on their own). A particularly nasty cut had manifested on the back of his left hand- courtesy of his father's switchblade. After doing everything in his power to ease the pain the battered boy riffled through his drawers until he found a long sleeved navy shirt, a faded pare of Levi's, a not-so-matching pair of socks and his favorite red hoodie. He snatched up a hair tie from the top of his dresser and- while looking into the mirror on the wall- pulled back his shoulder-length blonde hair into a sloppy pony tail. Of course, that one disobedient curl bounced about in front of his eyes, refusing to stay tied back.

Staring at his reflection he couldn't help but wonder at all the "what if"'s surrounding his life. What if he hadn't been born with such a girl-ish face? What if, instead of having his slight frame Matthew had achieved some muscle definition? What if he could defend himself? What if, instead of taking his brother Alfred, his mother had taken him to safety when she left?

But he didn't truly wish his mother had taken him instead. Alfred and the woman he could barely put a face to had left right after he turned 6, so he only had hazy memories of them- but he remembers loving his older brother very much. Whenever Matthew felt scared or got hurt Alfred would be there to make him feel better, proclaiming "I'll be your hero Mattie, so don't cry!" He had always made Matthew smile. Through every scraped knee and ghost in the night, Alfred had been there. He might not have always remembered Matthew's name, but then nobody did. Matthew only felt glad that his brother didn't have to stay trapped like him.

These thoughts flew around his mind as he walked in circles in his spacious, yet empty, room- getting used to the now throbbing pain in his hips and legs so his walk wouldn't look different than usual once he left the house.

Another snore cut through the silence and Matthew quickened his pace. Grabbing his backpack and slipping on his shoes he swiftly and silently started down the stairs. Only a few steps away from the first floor he spotted something- a rust-colored stain in the white carpet. Blood. His blood

"Shit," Matthew hissed, his voice less than a whisper. He flew back up the stairs and found the small jug of bleach and bundle of rags that he keeps in his closet. In his haste to clean the stain he spilt some of the chemicals on his hand but just ignored the burning sensation until there wasn't a hint of discoloring in the carpet and the cleaning supplies were back in his closet. Although his father enjoyed the act of beating his son, he didn't enjoy any reminders of it afterward- it put him in a foul mood. And anything Matthew could do to keep his father away from the delicate breaking point of his temper was appreciated.

Sneaking through the kitchen on his way to the front door, Matthew grabbed a granola bar and a can of tuna. Just as he began to turn the doorknob he heard a yawn and the creak of floorboards

"Mon dieu," Matthew whispered so quietly he barely made a sound. He always slips into his preferred language in stressful moments. Wrenching open the door, he ran outside, got in his car and drove.

"Guess it's time for school," Matthew said in his quiet voice once his heart stopped beating like a humming birds. He softly chattered to himself, just to fill the silence.

The car ride to school seemed long, uneventful, and silent other than his one-sided conversation. He drove out of the luxurious "Gated Community" where he lived and into the husle-busle of the city. Soon he pulled into the parking lot of the school, slowing to a stop at the security block. A guard in a black and yellow uniform knocked on his window and gestured for him to roll down the tinted barrier.

"Student I.D. and permission form for driving please," the guard commanded in the polite way you only attain when constantly surrounded by those of higher status than you. His eyes lazily roamed over the plastic card and folded paper Matthew held up. "Thank you Mr. Williams. Please remember to keep your I.D. with you at all times and only park in spaces marked for student use," as a last thought he added "have a nice school year."

"Thank you," Matthew whispered, but he wasn't sure the guard heard him. _Oh well_, Matthew thought as he expertly parked his car. _Not a lot of people can hear me anyways._

He grabbed his backpack and started to exit the car when he heard a-

"Meow."

But he couldn't have- had made sure not to let the stray into his ca-

"Meeeeoooow," the sound repeated, coming from the back seat of the SUV. Craning his neck, Matthew saw a fury white head peek out from an old sweater he had thrown back there a few weeks ago. It meowed again, looking at him with huge eyes that seemed to say_ I don't know exactly who you are, but please feed me anyway._

"Kumajirou!" Matthew complained as he reached back, scooped up the kitten, and brought him up into the front seat. "This is the third time you've snuck into my car! You know I'll bring you food everyday, so you don't need to wait in here for me." He raised the scraggly fur ball to his eye level, trying to stay mad, but the longer he looked into his big questioning eyes (Who're you? they seemed to say) the more amused he became. Finally he let out a tinkling laugh and rubbed his frosty nose against Kumajirou's velvety one. He set the cat down in his lap and pulled the can of tuna out of his pocket.

"There," he said as he set the opened can in the passanger seat and watched as the small kitten pounced. "Enjoy that. I'll leave the window open, in case you want to get out, but I've given up on trying to keep you out of my car."

With a silent chuckle, the young Canadian cracked a window just enough for the limber cat to escape if it wanted and then walked towards the awaiting school building ahead of him.

As Matthew drew closer to the front doors of the building he spotted two figures leaning against the wall, passing a cigarette back and forth. Once he got close enough to see their faces, he realized it was Francis and Antonio.

_Those two are always doing something that'll get them in trouble_, thought Matthew as he hurried past. And it's a true statement if there ever was one. Francis had moved to Canada at the age of nine from France because his mother- the daughter of a wealthy movie star- decided to have a divorce and "Get some space" from her ex-husband. The Atlantic Ocean's worth of space. Antonio's father is some kind of producer and always busy traveling the world for one thing or another. When Antonio was young he would leave his son with his sister's family when he left. Somewhere along the was, it became a permanent situation. These two and another friend- Matthew couldn't remember his name, but he knew he was German, odd looking, and quite the wild card- could always be found together, causing mischief. As Matthew walked by them Francis called out-

"Vous n'avez pas l'air bien Matthew, voules-vous certains?" the Frenchman asked, relishing in the chance to speak to someone who could properly hold a conversation in his native tongue. He held the cigarette out towards the younger boy. Antonio gave him a quizzical look but just pulled out another cancer stick from the pack in his back pocket for himself.

"Non merci, je suis juste fatigue'," Matthew replied, pausing in front of the doors.

"Vas bien," Francis said with a shrug, bringing the cigarette back up to his own lips. He could barley make out what the boy had said but he guessed the parts he had missed.

With a small nod of his head Matthew continued walking again. Once inside the hallway he kept his head down while he walked towards his locker near the end of the corridor. A few yards away from his destination Matthew froze. Someone rather large had decided to lean against his locker, and for a moment Matthew felt the irrational sense of fear that always came with the feeling of being noticed- until he saw it was only Ivan. Letting out a sigh of relief he kept going.

"Morning, malo Matthew. How are you this morning?" the tall Russian asked as he took his weight off of the aluminum door so Matthew could open his locker.

Ivan is the son of the Russian ambassador and looks exactly like his father- 6''2, shoulder length silvery blond hair, and completely ripped- while both his sisters looked like his mother. The younger sister, Natalia, is quite the terrifying little psycho- even with her gentle appearance. But they're all very nice to Matthew and some of the few people that notice him. Ever since they had met as children, Ivan had become Matthew's self-designated protector- although he could do nothing about what happened once Matthew went home, even if he knew about it.

"I'm okay, Matthew whispered as he unlatched his locker door. He winced as he raised his arm to get a book from the top shelf, stretching one of the half healed cuts on his back, and hoped Ivan didn't notice.

Luckily Ivan didn't notice, being too busy looking at Matthew's hand. "What happened there?" he asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Matthew drew his hand back closer to his body. The timid Canadian had begun to worry that the large Russian would put together the pieces and figure out went on at his home. His friend seemed to pick up on every little injury, and all the stress of keeping his 'little secret' didn't help Matthew on the whole speaking in public thing.

"I-um . . . I c-cut myself in the kitchen," Matthew quietly stuttered out.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and gave his friend a questioning look. "Really? You cut the back of your hand? So deeply that it's bleeding through your bandage?"

At that last statement Matthew looked down at his hand and saw indeed a little crimson spot quickly spreading across the white expanse of the bandage.

"Oh, maple," Matthew hissed and gathered up the things he'd need for class. Closing his locker, he turned and looked Ivan in the eyes (to do which he had to lean his head back as far as it would go) "I cut myself in the kitchen," Matthew repeated as steadily as he could, a blush spreading across his face because of the lie. "I'm gonna go to the nurse to get a new bandage."

With that, Matthew ran down the hallway as fast as he could towards the nurses. He could hear Ivan calling for him to wait but ignored him and just kept going. Once he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway and his friend was out of sight he slowed down to catch his breath. The warning bell rang and the hallways slowly emptied as students went off to their first period classes. Matthew stopped in front of a door with a name tag next to it which read

"Nurses Office

Roderich Edelstien"

Taking a deep breathe, Matthew opened the door and slipped inside.

Translations:

Mon dieu- Good God (french)

Vous n'avez pas l'air bien Matthew, voulez-vous certains?- You don't look well Matthew, would you like some?

Non merci, je suis juste fatigue'- No thank you, I'm just tired

Vas bien- Alright

Malo- Little (Russian)

Authors Note: So, I've been dieing to write a PruCan fanfic for a while now. I had several ideas I could have started with, but this is the one keeping me up at night. I hope you liked it and I hope you'll point out any typos or mistakes I made. I don't want any sugar-coated comments, my dears. If it sucked tell me and please tell me what I can do to get better. And I don't know if this was clear, but it's supposed to be the first day of the school year.

P.S. I used Google translate for it, so I hoped it worked- cause that's what I'm going to be using for the rest of the fanfic


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't Own. Hetalia.

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Matthew stood, his back against the door he had just gently closed behind him- waiting for the man sitting at an elegant-yet-plain steel desk at the other end of the room to notice him. Said man was too busy rustling through the papers scattered across the cool metal surface of his desk to notice the quiet, nearly invisible boy who had just entered his office. Pushing up his glasses and blowing the odd lock of hair that always fell in his face out of the way, he continued to look for whatever it was he needed as Matthew continued to wait.

"Ahem," Matthew tried- and failed- to draw attention to himself.

He tried again. "Excuse me," Matthew whispered, holding his hands together in front of him and catching the eye of the nurse who had finally glanced up.

"Oh my," Mr. Edlestien said as he pushed back his chair and stood. "I didn't hear you come in. How can I help?"

Matthew gave a weak smile and timidly walked further into the room. "I was wondering if I could have a new bandage," he stated in his quiet voice. He raised his injured hand so Mr. Edlestein- who was straining to make out what the quiet boy was saying- could see. By now the bandage was completely soaked- thick red lines of blood slithered down his wrist where it turned the blue of his sleeve to a wet purple.

"Oh my!" Mr. Edlestien repeated, quickly moving out from behind his desk and over to the medicine cabinet against the wall. "Sit down over there, silly boy!" the nurse gestured towards several squishy-looking chairs near the wall across from the beaurue. Matthew silently padded across the carpeted floors and settled in one of the chairs while Mr. Edlestien gathered a basket of supplies and a bowl of warm water from the faucet next to the cabinets. Rushing over, Mr. Edlestien set his tools on the coffee table next to Matthew and started to unwrap the used bandages from the boy's hand. With a quick demand for Matthew to stay still while he works, Mr. Eldestien began to gently treat the wound.

Using a soft towel, the experienced nurse wiped up all the blood from the area before treating it with hydrogen peroxide (Matthew winced a bit at the initial sting, but then recovered) and placing four butterfly bandages on the cut that had been hidden underneath the blanket of red liquid. Once he was sure the cut wouldn't start to bleed again he began to wrap it with a fresh bandage.

"Are you going to tell me how you attained such a sever wound? And why you didn't go to the hospital? I would have preferred to give you actual stitches," Mr. Eldestien said, annoyance at this total disregard of proper health protocols clear in his tone.

"I-I cut myself in the kitchen, sir," Matthew answered in his hushed voice.

The nurse threw him a sceptical glance- he knew this wound wasn't an accident. It was deliberate and dealt out with something much more precise that a kitchen knife. With a shrug and a frown Mr. Edlestien continued to tie off the bandage. If the boy didn't want to tell him the truth, there was no way to make him. He pushed the stained sleeve of Matthew's shirt back to the boy's elbow- so he could examine his wrist without it's interference- and revealed a mingled array of fading and fresh bruises that covered the small boy's arm with blooming purples and sickly yellows. The colors seemed to completely cover the slight Canadian's fair complexion. Mr. Edlestien's eyes widened with shock as Matthew gasped and jumped to his feet, ripping his arm out of the nurses grasp.

As he pulled his sleeve down and slowly backed up towards the door Matthew said in a stronger voice than usual "Thank you for your assistance, but please do not form your own ideas about my situation, or take action upon those opinions," becoming formal in his anxiety seemed to be another quirk. With a fearful look in his eye, Matthew opened the door behind him and before leaving added in a tone that could almost be described as begging, "S'il vous plaite!"

With that Matthew fled the room, closing the door as he left.

That left Mr. Edlestien standing in an empty room, with nothing but his thoughts. Sighing, he collapsed in the chair the young Canadian had just vacated and tried to decide what he should do. Would it hurt or help the boy to bring this situation out into the open? With another sigh he placed his head in his hands and sat in silence until a freshman with a paper cut came looking for a Band-Aid.

For the first time in years, Matthew actually hoped the people in the room he was about to enter wouldn't see him. Although the neglected boy wished for people to notice him, he didn't like the idea of being the center of attention.

_Might as well get it over with, _Matthew thought to himself, trying to build up the courage to open the door and step inside. Taking a deep breath he gently took hold of the doorknob, turned the smooth brass, and walked into the room.

"-ose are the four sections we'll be covering this year," the teacher was saying as he stepped inside, his hand posed over the white board as he scribbled some nearly unreadable notes. "Ah! Nice of you to join us Mr . . . .?" he trailed off

_Even my teacher doesn't remember me. He had me last year . . ._Matthew thought.

"Williams," Matthew managed to get out. "Matthew Williams."

"Well, Mr. Williams, please take that seat in the back," the teacher turned back to the white board he was writing on. "And remember, I will not excuse anymore tardiness."

Other kids snickered as he walked past, but the moment they couldn't see him they forgot all about the odd, girlie boy who came in late on the first day of school.

_Doesn't matter, _Matthew thought as he took his seat in the very back and placed his physics book on the wooden surface in front of him. _Just another school year. Just another battleground to survive. _Matthew found a crumpled piece of paper in his backpack and on auto-pilot began to scribble down everything the teacher said. He slipped into a daydream as the teacher assigned the first work of the year. Work out of the book. The rest of the class groaned, but Matthew just gave a weak grin and started writing down the questions and their answers in a neat script. Easy as it gets.

"Hey!" a voice hissed nearby. Matthew tuned it out and continued to work, but it came again. "Hey! You! Verdammt- you, girly boy!"

At that Matthew raised his head from his paper- which contained an almost perfect finished product of the assignment- to see who was talking and locked eyes with the speaker- with his vibrant red eyes. A look of shock swept across the Canadian's eyes before he whispered a muted "Yes?"

"Zhe awesome me has forgotten hiz book and I assume you would be willing to lend me yours?" the other boy said, his words showing his thick German accent. He flicked his shaggy white hair out of his eyes and waited.

_This is Francis and Antonio's other friend- the albino German, _Matthew thought as he silently handed the odd boy his Physics book- he didn't need it anymore. The German gave him a giant smile as he took the heavy book, causing a slight blush to spread across Matthew's cheeks.

"My awesome name iz Gilbert."

"Matthew."

"Well, Mattie, I feel like getting to know you a little better. Letz have a good school year."

_**Translations:**_

_**S'il vous plaite!- Please! (French)**_

_**Verdammt- Fucking (German)**_

_**Authors Note: There you go- Prussia has finally made his entrance. As always, I'll apologize on Google Translate's behalf if they effed anything up. Right now I'm having an internal debate between having USUK or FrUk as a side-story, so leave your opinion in the comments if you want a say! Other than that, I- as always- humbly beg for comments and critics. I can't ever get better if you don't say anything dears.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: To avoid a copyrights lawsuit, I'll say it- I don't own Hetalia or it's characters **

**Okay, I'm gonna explain this so no one is confused. In this imaginary school in my story I've decided they will use the block schedule method. The block schedule is where you split the school year into two terms and in the first term you have four classes and in the second term you have four entirely new classes. So, four periods in a school day. On to the story!**

The dead silent classroom erupted into chatter and noise as the bell signaling the end of the period chimed. Everyone jumped to their feet and rushed to the exit- all but the quiet Canadian boy in the back who waited for the crowd to dissipate. He began to gather his things when there were just a few students left loitering around the room. Standing with his backpack slung over his shoulder Matthew started for the door when a hand landed on top of his head, rustling up his hair.

"You gonna leave your book, Mattie?" Gilbert asked the startled boy.

"O-oh, I forgot," Matthew replied. The German leaned in closer so he could make out his words and hand him his book. "Thank you," Matthew added as he took the heavy textbook.

"Your velcome! The awesome me vould never forget to give you back your book!" Gilbert all but shouted in his usual boisterous voice. "Also, I've decided your going to join me unt my friends at lunch," he added as they walked out the door and enter the busy hallway.

"W-what?" Matthew turned to face his new 'friend', a little shocked.

"Of course! How else is the awesome me supposed to get to know you?"

"B-but I already said I would sit with someone," Matthew tried to raise his voice so Gilbert could hear him over the noise coming from all sides.

"Who?" Gilbert's crimson eyes narrowed- he didn't like to share new toys, and this kid is hilarious and down-right fun to screw with. He enjoyed watching the kid blush and stutter in surprise or embarrassment.

"Well-" Matthew began but stopped himself when he heard his named being called from the other end of hallway.

"Matthew!"

Towering over the rest of the crowd, Ivan stood there scanning the milling people with a lazy empty smile on his face. When his eyes locked on the small Canadian he began to move through the crowd towards him. In matter of seconds Ivan stood beside his friend. Holding out his hand he said "You forgot these this morning."

"Oh! My glasses!" Matthew squeaked, snatching up his glasses and placed them on his face, moving his odd curl out of the way. "Merci, I was starting to get a headache."

"You can be quite the air-head, comrade Matvey," the Russian said, using his nickname with a small, genuine smile.

"I know," Matthew replied with a slight blush and a smile in return. "Thanks."

Just then Ivan finally noticed the albino standing beside Matthew and the smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a cold expression. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering the question, Gilbert placed his arm around the Canadian's shoulders and pulled him close to his side. "This is who you vere going to eat with, Mattie? Vell, your welcome for saving you from one boring, scary, lunch," he said to Matthew, completely ignoring the glowering Russian in front of him.

"Get your hands off him," Ivan said, danger glinting in his eyes.

"Why don't you make me, commie?" Gilbert replied, tightening his grip on the boy next to him.

"H-hey!" Matthew tried to wriggle out from the German's grasp before the situation got any worse. _What is happening here? _Matthew thought as he continued to struggle._ Do these two know each other? _

Ivan leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides while Gilbert gave him a goading smirk. Other students in the hall seemed to sense a fight coming on and gave the two notorious boys their space. Gilbert squeezed Matthews arm tighter as the tension grew- right on one of the smaller boy's newest bruises. A grimace of pain took up residence on his face. At the sight of Matthew's pain, Ivan snapped. Rushing forward, Ivan grabbed the obnoxious German by the collar of his shirt, lifted him off his feet (shaking Matthew off as he did, causing him to land on the ground), and shoved him into the wall.

"C'mon," Gilbert all but hissed.

"Oi! What are you lads doing?!"

Rushing out of his classroom on the other side of the hall came Mr. Kirkland, the English teacher. Grabbing Ivan with both hands he tried to yank the giant boy away. Kids quickly scurried to their next classes before they could be dragged into the fiasco.

Even though Mr. Kirkland put all his might into extracting the Russian from the German, the large boy didn't budge- he just glared into the red eyes of the smirking mudak he had pinned.

"You will stop this RIGHT NOW Ivan, or we will take this to the Principle!" Mr. Kirkland shouted.

After a long moment, Ivan released Gilbert and took a slow step back. His eyes full of hate never left Gilbert's.

"Now, are you going to tell me wha- Oh!" Mr. Kirkland stopped mid sentence as he accidently trotted on the Canadian on the floor. "Sorry lad, I didn't see you there," he apologized as he reached down a hand to help the boy up.

"It's alright," Matthew whispered as he got to his feet. At the sound of his friends quiet voice, Ivan's eyes darted over to see if he was okay. Matthew gave him what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile while he gently rubbed some feeling back into his arm.

"As I was saying, what happened here?" Mr. Kirkland asked.

"It vas just boys being boys, Mr. K. You're not that old- you should remember vhat that's like," Gilbert said, a playful smile on his lips. And it's true- Arthur Kirkland was the youngest teacher to ever be hired by the prestigious school at the age of 21.

Deciding to take the last comment lightly, Mr. Kirkland gave a faint smile and said "Alright then. Don't let me catch you two at it again- you have enough fights on you records already." With that he turned and headed back to his own class, leaving the boys to sort out their own problems in the now deserted hallway.

"You alright Mattie?" Gilbert asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm fine, thank you Gilbert," Matthew said with a smile- but his brows were furrowed in confusion. What the HELL had just happened. He looked imploringly between Ivan and Gilbert, hoping one of them would offer up an explanation. No one did.

"C'mon Matthew. Let's go to our next class," Ivan said, grabbing Matthew's arm, careful not to squeeze too hard.

As Ivan quickly pulled Matthew away they heard Gilbert call out "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew! And I'm not giving up on the lunch thing just yet!"

Gym passed in a blur. Matthew did his best to hide his bruises while he changed, but really it didn't matter whether he tried or not. No one noticed the quiet boy hiding in the corner.

Walking out of the locker rooms Matthew ran straight into Ivan.

Looking up into his eyes, Matthew gave him a smile. "Ivan hi-"

"What were you doing with Gilbert?"

With a confused look Matthew answered "We have first period physics together- he borrowed my book. Why are you so angry Ivan?"

A long minute passed of Ivan looking down at his small friend, a look of rage and suspicion in his eyes. "He is not a good person to be around, comrade Matvey."

Tilting his head to the side, Matthew gave him a look that seemed to say _What in the world are you talking about?_ "He seemed nice to me."

For a moment Ivan looked as if he was going to scream and yell. For a moment. Then his expression went back to their usual set features, hiding all emotion. "Lets not talk about it now," he finally said. "How about we go eat out on the bleachers, da?"

Matthew's eyes were wide with shock. He had never seen his large friend so angry before- especially not at him. "O-okay," he finally stuttered out..

The rest of the day Matthew just went through the motions. He took notes, he listened to the teachers, he hurried through the hallways. All the while, Ivan tried to avoid any run-ins with a specific albino German, making Matthew take detours between classes and after lunch.

During his last and favorite class- Art- Matthew sat by the window with a sketchbook in his hands. Art is one of the few all-year classes like Newspaper and Band. Ms. Hedervary, the teacher, had a very care-free teaching style and a very strict grading system. Each student received an assignment for the year unique to their skills be it sketching, painting, sculpting or whatever they specialized in. Turn in the assignment at the end of the year, and if it's up to Ms. Hedervary's standards you pass the class, if not you fail.

You might be thinking that is an unfair way to grade a student. What if the teacher doesn't like the style or the look? But as the Hungarian woman says at the beginning of each school year, it doesn't matter if the art is good but if it holds your heart. After her little speech, she sat down with each of her students and discussed what their assignment should be. A lazy boy from Greece decided to make a statue that showed who he was. Another boy- Matthew was pretty sure the boy's name is Kiku, and nearly positive he's of Japanese decent- settled on drawing an entire comic book (Anime is one of my passions, the boy had said in a calm passive voice). And then it had been Matthew's turn.

At first, the teacher hadn't even seen the quiet Canadian and walked right past him.

"E-excuse me," Matthew had squeaked out. "I still need an assignment."

"Oh!" Ms. Hedervary had spun around and searched for the source of the quiet voice, her eyes finally landing on the petite boy sitting by the window. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you," she said as she walked over and sat in the desk beside him.

"It's all right," Matthew had replied, looking down at his sketchbook.

"Well, let's get right down to it!" the energetic woman had exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "What do you do?"

"I-I draw."

"Speak up, dear, I really can't hear you."

"I draw," Matthew strained to make his voice louder and gestured at the worn sketchbook on the wooden surface before him. The plain, worn book had the corners of its cover torn and a dark stain on one side. The metallic corkscrew spine unraveled at the ends as well. Even with all that though, you could tell the ware-and-tare had come from a long, successful career of being loved and held dear.

"May I take a look?" the teacher asked. Matthew nodded his head and handed over the book. Flipping through the pages, Ms. Hedervary's eyes grew wider and wider. Each page held something different- some were oil pastels, others charcoal. A lot were just simple sketches, but they were impeccable- every detail precise, each mark on the page used to the fullest. The images almost seemed to come to life.

One specific image caught the Hungarian's eye- a charcoal picture of a small boy curled up in the corner of an empty room, his knees held up to hide his face and his arms wrapped around his legs. The edges of the walls and floor crumbled away into a gaping abyss. The only color on the page was the red dripping from the boy's hands, some of which puddled on the ground. A simple image, yet it spoke a thousand words, expressed a thousand emotions. I'll be it, it was dark and depressing, but it was beautiful.

A silence stretched out between student and teacher as Ms. Hedervary's eyes lingered on the picture of the boy.

"You have a true talent," Ms. Hedervary finally said.

"Merci," Matthew whispered.

"Hmmmm . . ." a more purposeful silence ensued while the teacher thought about what the young Canadian should do. "How about this? You create a portfolio for me- something you would give someone to get a job, you know? With all the works. One piece for each of your talents. Have the minimum of four pieces. Other than that, do whatever you want."

Matthew gave her a giant, genuine smile. "That sounds wonderful."

_**Translations:**_

_**Merci- Thank you (French)**_

_**Mudak: Asshole (Russian)**_

_**Author's Note: I loved the idea of an artistic Canada, so that's what I put in. I still haven't decided between FrUk and USUK, so I couldn't put in some of the things I would have liked to. Sorry. I would really appreciate it if you guys gave me your opinion. Also, I wanted to clarify that Alfred is Matthew's OLDER brother in this, just so things don't get confusing later on. Another favor- I don't feel like I'm doing very good with the German accent so if you guys could give me some tips, that would be great**_

_**The whole time I was writing this my brother was nagging me to hurry up so he could read it and it really got on my nerves. He made me loose the flow for a bit, so the part where I'm talking about the art class is a little lame- I apologize.**_

_**Other than that, I apologize for Google Translate, per usual and hope you enjoyed the story!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: If you still don't know this, I'd be concerned, but I'll say it again anyways- I don't own Hetalia.

Cat and mouse is a game that Matthew never desired to play- yet for the next week, play is exactly what he did. In this instance, Gilbert played the role of cat while Matthew - Ivan too, of course- were the mouse.

Determined to get back his interesting new toy, Gilbert chased the other two around campus with an enthusiasm that seemed almost unnatural. Ivan, on the other hand showed a stubbornness beyond his years as he dragged his small Canadian friends all over the school in an attempt to avoid his German rival. While the large Russian ended up succeeding in hiding Matthew away most of the time, nothing could be done about first period physics. It became the regular routine in the mornings for the two older boys to race and see who could get to Matthew first and drag him to his morning class. If Gilbert got to him first it went like this:

"Hey, Mattie!" A German voice startled Matthew as he locked up his car, his eyes focused on the ragamuffin kitten eating tuna in his passenger seat. Spinning around, he saw Gilbert standing only a few inches behind him.

"Oh, g-good morning, Gilbert," the Canadian stuttered as he maneuvered around his odd friendemy- but Gilbert wouldn't let him get away that easily.

Grabbing his arm gently- Gilbert always learned from his mistakes- the albino steered them towards the school building, setting them a fast pace. "Lets get to class quick- before your large and rather scary stalker shows up."

Not knowing what to do, Matthew let Gilbert pull him along until they sat next to each other in the back of physics class.

If Ivan got to him first it went something like this:

A hand landed on Matthew's shoulder as he turned away from a begging Kumajirou in the driver side seat-h(e wanted more food). Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Matthew looked up to see it was only Ivan. A look of relief replaced his previous expression of shock and fear.

"Come on comrade Matvey, let's get you to your first class," Ivan said as he led his tiny friend through the crowded halls. "Try to avoid that albino ublyudok."

Once again not knowing what to do, Matthew let Ivan pull him along and supervise him getting settled in his desk. Throwing Gilbert one last glare on the way out, the Russian left to get to his own class. At the end of the period he would be back to carry Matthew away before Gilbert could attempt to make plans.

Physics quickly became Matthew's most nerve racking class.

"Roderich~" a sing-song voice called from outside Nurse Edelstien's door. After a moment of silence when no reply came, in pranced Ms. Hedervary- here to see her not-so-secret crush.

"Hello~" she called/sang. Doing a little spin that sent her hair and long skirt twirling, Ms. Hedervary came to a stop in the middle of the room. Fridays always put the Hungarian girl in a good mood. But apparently the looming presence of the weekend hadn't effected Mr. Edelstien.

The Austrian sat at his desk staring at nothing with an expression that revealed a raging internal conflict inside him. The happy-go-lucky, paint splattered Ms. Hedervary seemed shocked- usually he would've politely greeted her in his gentlemanly way and then reminded her not to get paint on any of his stuff.

"Roderich?"

At hearing his name called once again, Mr. Edelstien seemed to snap out of his reverie. After looking around for a moment, Roderich's eyes landed on Ms. Hedervary.

"Ah, Elizabeta welcome. Please refrain from getting any of your paint on my belongings," he said as he stood. "Was there something you needed?"

"No," Elizabeta replied, crossing the room to take a seat in one of the extra cozy chairs. "I just came to visit- today is Friday, you know. You're supposed to relax. You look like your going to cause yourself a brain hemorrhage from how hard you're thinking. What's bothering you?"

Sighing, Roderich walked over to the chair next to his friend and- gracefully- collapsed into it. He sat in silence for a minute, trying to think of a way to answer the question without actually telling the heavy secret he had been carrying the whole week. Finally he spoke.

"What would you do if you knew a secret that had a fifty-fifty chance of hurting or helping someone if revealed?"

Without hesitation Elizabeta replied "Gather more information until I was positive of the outcome, and if that wouldn't work take matters into my own hands and beat up whoever is causing the problem."

Roderich raised an eyebrow at his slightly eccentric friend's answer and let the silence relapse as he thought it over.

"Who exactly are talking about?" the Hungarian asked after a few minutes of quiet.

"A student," the stressed nurse simply replied.

At this Elizabeta raised her eyebrow. "You're usually so strict about medical situations- what could it be that you couldn't bring it out into the open? In any normal case you go straight to the parents, unless-" she stopped and gasped when she came to a realization. "It's not-"

"It is," Roderich cut off the shocked woman before she could say it aloud. He had already said it to himself so many times, he didn't want to hear it anymore. But even if no one said it aloud, he could still hear it chanting in his head- _abuse, abuse, abuse, abuse, he's being abused, abuse, abuse . . . _"I just don't want to talk about it. I'll figure something out. I can handle this."

At this moment, in walked the principle's secretary. "What can you handle?" the rather short Icelandic man said as he strode into the office. He tried to run his fingers through his silver-blonde hair, but it seemed to no avail- he had a permanent case of bed-head.

The Austrian threw his friend a warning glare as if to say _Speak and you'll regret it. _"Nothing Emil," he answered. "One of the students wouldn't take some medication for his stomach ache so I had to send him home early- stubborn child. It caused a few problems, but it's all in my weekly report," he gestured towards his desk when he spoke of the report.

"Well, as long as it wasn't anything serious," Emil said as he walked towards the metal desk to retrieve the report. Scooping it up, he began to scan it while he spoke. "If the parents have complaints or the boy gets worse please let me know- we'll have to make a statement. Hmm . . . What did you have to use bandages, butterfly bandages and pain ointment on? Was it something serious?"

Roderich could feel Elizabeta drilling holes into him at this statement, but he kept his eyes on the secretary. "No, it wasn't serious. The student was an excessive bleeder, so I was overly cautious in my treatment," he lied quickly.

"Okay then, everything checks out- thanks Roderich," Emil gave out his stamp of approval and headed out the door. When it closed behind him a tension flooded the room.

"What are you doing Roderich?!"

"I don't know Elizabeta! I don't know." With a weary groan, the Austrian let his head fall into his hands.

Seeing the man she had loved for nearly two years now in this state gave Elizabeta a shock- she had never seen him so disheveled or so worried. She instantly regretted snapping at him. Wanting to comfort him, she started to rub his shoulder with the cleaner of her two paint clad hands.

"I have a new student this year that you would love," she attempted to cheer him up. "He's a genius- knows how to draw with anything you could ask him to. Just your type of prodigy- he's a little too quiet for his own good, and a little too nice too. But he's as smart as they come."

Lifting his head a little, Roderich gave the kind girl by his side a smile. "He sounds stupendous- what's his name?"

"Williams. Matthew Williams."

Roderich's brow furrowed in concentration- that name seemed so familiar. Where had he heard it before? As he fished through his memories, Elizabeta kept talking.

"I'll admit, a large amount of his work has a depressing undertone but it's still beautiful. I know you love people who can be sophisticated in their art- and this kid can definitely do that. But he also has these pieces that are just overflowing with joy. And I swear, this kid has some weird quirks. He always wears long sleeves and he's got this funny curl that hangs in his face. I really like this kid, I think he could go really far, if I could just get him to be confident in his own skin."

Sitting up straight, Roderich pushed his friend's hand aside. All the color drained from his face as he remembered where he had seen this boy before. He looked at his friend with an expression full of pity and understanding. Elizabeta stopped her rambling as a feeling of dread started to spread through her.

"You're not saying- he's not-"

"Yes, he is."

Matthew slowed his car to a complete stop before he punched in the code to open the gates at the entrance of his neighborhood, Maple Grove. He still had a faint smile on his face as he drove through the wide streets beyond the metal bars that slid back into place behind him. Speeding back up, he headed for his house (although mansion would be a more appropriate word). Today had been good, other than stressing about the Ivan vs. Gilbert situation- he still didn't understand why the two Juniors were so determined to keep the other from being close to him, or why they wanted to be close to such a useless person in the first place. But other than that almost nothing bad had happened all week- the cut on his hand had healed nicely, he got A's on both the pop quizzes, and most importantly his father left on a business trip.

Yes, an entire week without a beating- it seemed too good to be true. Matthew's father wouldn't be back until Sunday which meant that for the first time in five years he could have a peaceful Saturday morning all to himself. The young Canadian could hardly believe his good luck.

Yet as the meters left until he got home turned to yards a feeling of dread started to grow. As yards turned to feet, dread turned to fear. And then he turned the last corner which blocked the view of his house to see- sitting in the driveway like a metallic, poisonous, hemiptera bug- his father's car . Thoughts of a restful weekend fled at the sight of his father's silver Corvette.

"Faire foutre! Pourquoi est-il de retour si tôt?" Matthew whispered to himself as he drew closer and closer to what awaited parked his car as best he could with his hands shaking and slowly made his way to the front door. The terrified teen dropped his keys twice before he managed to unlock and then open the wooden barrier.

Stepping inside, Matthew nearly fell over, overwhelmed by the smell of vodka and throw-up. As he hung up his coat, Matthew gently closed the door behind him and locked it. While he set his backpack down on the kitchen table he heard the clanking of bottles being disturbed and a voice called out-

"So my fucking pussy ofa son is fin'lly home?"

"Yes Papa," Matthew answered, as loudly as he could.

"Well, get tha fuck in 'ere!" The slurred voice called again.

Silent but swift- that's the way Mr. Williams likes things done, so Matthew rushed into the living room, careful not to trip on any of the empty or broken bottles that littered the floor.

_I have to clean soon, _Matthew thought as he looked around the trashed room that had been spotless this morning. His eyes moved from the hard wood floors covered in wrappers and bottles to the coffee table where a puddle of . . . something sat, and finally to the couch where his father sat, his red unfocused eyes trained on his son. With his unoccupied hand he reached up and grabbed the cigarette that had been dangling from the corner of his mouth. The wasted man lurched to his feet, swinging his arms to get his balance back and clutched his bottle of Absolut tighter. He took one, two, three staggered steps towards Matthew then stopped.

"D'ya know why'm here early?" he asked, his breathe making Matthew's eyes tear up. As he spoke he leaned forward and put his cigarette out with a twist on a sliver a skin exposed where Matthew's shirt had shifted out of place. The boy gasped through gritted teeth, but managed not to cry out.

"No Papa," Matthew answered, his quiet voice dropping even lower in pain and fear.

Without warning, his father drew back his arm and punch the small boy in the gut as hard as he could.

"D'n't got time to try'n hear your fuckin' quiet-ass voice," his father said while he watch without emotion as his son crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. "M here cause some fuckin' dumbass fucked up m' schudle, so ma meetings not 'till NEXT-WENDS-DAY!" For each syllable he shouted, he placed a kick in Matthew's side. Curling up into a ball, Matthew lay on the ground and waited for the next blows to come. But they didn't.

"Get up," he father commanded in a winded voice. When his son didn't move (because he couldn't) his face became redder and he leaned over and grabbed a fistful of Matthew's blonde hair that had come free of its tie. Yanking hard enough to drag a quick scream out of his son, Mr. Williams pulled Matthew up onto his feet. When he pulled his hand away hairs he had pulled out at the root twisted around his fingers. Leaning back his head and tilting his bottle he took a swig of vodka before leaning in until his cheek pressed against Matthew's.

"M fuckin' pissed," he hissed.

This time grabbing his arm, Mr. Williams threw Matthew down onto the couch and started to take off his belt.

"If 'nly you wera woman, then I would just fuck ya," his father muttered to himself as he wrapped one end of the belt around his hand and started using the metal end to hit his son's back over and over.

At first Matthew tried to hold in his cries, but soon he started to scream. Each place where the belt hit left a spot of red on the thin fabric that slowly spread outwards.

"S'il vous plait Papa! Arrêter!"

The moment the words past his lips, Matthew regretted them. His fathers eyes grew dark as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switch blade. He leaned over his son who lay panting on the couch.

"I never want to hear the language of that fucking slut come out of your fucking mouth again," he growled as he used his blade to cut off Matthew's shirt. "Of course, that's what I get for trying to marry some French bitch," his voice took on a cynical edge that erased the slur he'd had. He began to dig into the pale, soft skin of Matthew's back with the edge of the knife, leaving shallow long lines of red behind.

Matthew bit his tongue until he tasted blood, determined to stay quiet. He just had to last until his father got bored and that wouldn't take long. In fact, only a few minutes later, Mr. Williams straightened up, wiped his blade clean on Matthew's pants, and headed for the door

"I'm out of here," he muttered as he snatched up his keys and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

For a moment, Matthew could only lay there gasping for air. But with the threat of his father's return hanging over him, he forced himself to get to his feet. In a daze he stumbled up the stairs, into his room and fell to the floor. Silent tears started to stream down his face. The battered Canadian didn't have the energy to stand again so he crawled over to his dresser where all his first- aid supplies sat neatly arranged.

"Ointment, hydrogen peroxide, bandages," Matthew mumbled to himself the name of each thing he grabbed. Squeezing a fair amount of the pain-relieving gel into his hands he spread it across his bruised ribs and as much of his back as he could reach. He leaned his head back against the solid wood drawers behind him and waited for the remedy to start working. One specific welt from his father's belt continued to ache right between his shoulder blades even when all the others started to go numb. With a sigh Matthew leaned forward again and grabbed to bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Unscrewing the cap, Matthew took a deep breathe and braced himself as he poured the contents of the bottle down his back. His eyes clamped shut as the fizzing liquid hit all his open cuts- stinging like hell as it fought off any germs that had slipped in. Finally he wrapped as many of his wounds that could be reached in bandages and crawled over to his bed.

It took the last of the poor boy's energy to pull himself up onto the mattress and under the covers. Drying his tears on his pillow, Matthew lay his head down and slipped into a blank unconsciousness.

Hopefully tomorrow would be better for the unfortunate child.

_**Translations::**_

_**Ublyudok- Bastard (Russian)**_

_**Faire foutre! pourquoi est-il de retour si tôt?- Fuck! Why is he home so early? (French)**_

_**S'il vous plait Papa! Arrêter!- Please Papa! Stop! (French)**_

_**Authors Note: I don't know why this chapter turned out so long- I just had the idea of what I wanted to happen and couldn't bring myself to take anything out. Sorry. Maybe I should've split this in half . . . I don't know. I started to loose momentum around the beginning of the beating scene, so if it sucks I apologize. I have decided on FrUk at the urging of some of my friends so that's decided! Also, my hinting at AusHun wasn't so subtle was it? **_

_**One last thing, were any of you surprise to see Iceland? Yep, all the Nordic states are going to make an appearance at some point or another . . . . .**_

_**If Google Translate screwed me over I apologize.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Hetalia- mine- not.**

**Duh.**

Monday seemed to show up out of the blue- for Gilbert and Matthew. The two boys just didn't know where the weekend had gone, but neither of them were disappointed to go back to school. For Matthew is was a welcomed escape from home and for Gilbert- well, he felt excited about putting his new plan into action. His plan to get Matthew to eat lunch with him.

As the albino paced in circles on the side walk next the space that Matthew usually uses, he thought back on how this plan came to be. . .

x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**

"You've been distracted lately, mon ami," a voice interrupted Gilbert's thinking as he sat outside his house. Having nothing to do over the weekend had put him in a foul mood and left him sitting alone on his front porch. Looking up he saw his two best friends walking up the marble steps of his porch and taking a seat on either side of him.

"Yeah, is there something we don't know about?" Antonio asked as he reached for a cigarette.

"Nein," he automatically answered, but then paused. "Vell . . . I'm having some trouble vith . . . getting someone to trust me?"

Francis and Antonio locked eyes and then simultaneously erupted into laughter. After a few moments of tears-in-your-eyes laughing the Spaniard managed to pull himself together.

"Who- in their right mind- would trust- you?" he forced out between gasps. He put his cigarette back in the pack, knowing he wouldn't have the time or attention to smoke it.

A flush spread through Gilbert's pale face and he leaned over to punch his friend in the arm as hard as he could- which is pretty hard. "I'm not that bad! At least I'm not a pervert like Francis!"

Francis stopped laughing so he could defend his name. "I am not a pervert- I am an expert in l' amore. It is not my fault that mes petits flock to me."

At this Antonio and Gilbert shared a look and matching grins spread across their faces. Gilbert spoke first though.

"So Mr. K is 'flocking' is he? I vould have described it as fleeing by the vay he runs every time you come near," the German teased, referring to his friends obvious passes at their English teacher.

A wounded look came over the Frenchman's face. "He is just having trouble excepting the fact that he has fallen for the whimsical me," he said in a tone that showed how much he questioned his own words.

"I'm sure you'll get to him eventually, amigo, don't loose hope," Antonio took a swing at comforting his friend.

"Get in his pants, more like- just like Antonio and my brother with those weird Italians," Gilbert added. This comment got him punches from both sides. "Ow!" he chuckled as he rubbed his arms. The three sat laughing at their ridiculous situations together. But after a moment, Gilbert slipped back into his thoughts- most of them about a certain Canadian. His face clouded over as he tried to come up with a way to get the kid to even _talk_ to him.

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" Antonio asked Gilbert.

"Is it about a woman?" Francis asked.

"No- vell, he's pretty enough to be a voman," the German blushed again.

"Who?!" the other two asked together

"Matthew- Matthew Williams."

A shocked silence then settled over the friends as Antonio and Francis both tried to grasp the fact that their crazy friend had fallen for such a quiet, invisible boy. Quiet. Invisible. _Boy_. The first to recover as usual, Antonio started to think.

"What's the issue? You'd think you'd be able to 'get in his pants' by now," the Spaniard made quotation marks in the air as he quoted his friend. Francis and Antonio may be surprised by their friends orientation, but whatever the three did the other two would support.

The German's face turned a red so dark it almost matched his eyes. "I-I-I-I don't vant to screw him! He's interesting, that's all! I vant to see vhat makes him tick, that's it!" he insisted, convincing no one.

"Ohonhonhonhon~" Francis chuckled. "When was the last time we saw Gilbert so embarrassed?"

"Shut up!" Gilbert yelled, hiding his face in his hands. "I don't even think he likes me- vhich makes him crazy. I'm awesome!"

"Relax, mon ami. I know about shy, little Matthew. We will help you woo him!" Antonio nodded in agreement to his friends proclamation.

"It's not the vooing part I'm worried about," Gilbert said, raising his head. A hard edge showed up in his eyes. "It's getting him away from that verdammt guard dog, Ivan!"

Both his friends raised an eyebrow at this. "What does Ivan have to do with this?" Antonio asked for them.

"That schwein has decided to protect Matthew to the last breathe or something," Gilbert said with a sigh. "He's never away from the kid and he's decided that I'm no good for him."

"It's probably about what happened with Alfred ba-" Antonio started, but stopped when Gilbert gave him a glare that would melt stone. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Gilbert's gaze softened when he saw the down cast expression his friend had. "It's alright," he said with another sigh.

Giving the depressed German a half hug, Francis began to talk again. "We will detain Ivan, and you can snatch up mignon petit Matthew!"

"Yeah!" a cheered up Antonio chimed in.

But Gilbert had a more skeptical point of view. "And take him vhere? If ve're anywhere on campus that fucking Russian vill find us," he pointed out.

"Play hooky for the day with your little sweetheart," the Frenchman said with a mischievous grin. "We will make your excuses for you."

As the thought of finally being alone with the allusive Matthew sunk in, Gilbert brightened. "Alright," he agreed after a long moment of silence. "Let's talk strategy."

x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**x**X**

And so an excited Gilbert waited, fervently hoping all went according to the plan with his two friends. He continued to pace until he saw a familiar dark blue SUV pulling through the security block and heading for the space he stood next to. The German stopped his nervous movement, placing his hands in his pocket, and waited for the Canadian with a smirk on his face.

In a quick, elegant manner Matthew parked his car, gave food to Kumajirou, and exited the vehicle. He had seen Gilbert the moment he pulled into the parking lot and had to take a deep, steadying breathe before approaching the other boy. As he drew closer Gilbert's smirk stretched into a full out smile.

"Mattie! Vhat took you so long? The awesome me has been vaiting for you for a vhile now," the albino exclaimed as he placed his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders.

"S-sorry," Matthew replied, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for.

"It's alright! You're here now so none of my plans are ruined," Gilbert said as he steered the short blonde past the school building and further into the parking lot.

"U-uummm . . . . Gilbert?" Matthew took a minute to build up the courage to ask his question.

"Yeah Mattie?"

"Where are you taking me?"

The German gave an amused laugh at the confused Canadian's question. "Vell to my awesome car- ve're ditching for the day!"

"What?!" Matthew tried to exclaim, but it just came out as a heightened squeak.

Laughing again, Gilbert drew them both to a stop in front of an original 1968 Mach 1 Mustang. The bright, spotless yellow of the car gleamed in the sun as it sat in it's space, coiled and ready to shoot off. A loving expression took over Gilbert's face as he gazed upon this speed-demon vehicle.

"Matthew, I'd like to introduce you- this, is my baby," he said, making a large sweeping gesture with the arm not hanging on Matthew's shoulders. "I pretty much took apart and put her back together, she vas in such bad shape when I found her just sitting on the road side- it vas just such a great find, I couldn't let it go. All the people at my dad's home base garage vere really helpful too. It vas an original, and I kept as many of the old pieces as possible. The only thing I really changed vas the paint job and- "

As the invigorated albino went on and on describing a play-by-play of every close call and achievement when he worked on his car, Matthew silently watched. He looked on as Gilbert's eyes went from a dulled red to a sparkling crimson as he went on talking about parts of a car Matthew had never even known existed. Worries about missing class slipped away as Gilbert's explanations become more and more enthusiastic. This went on until the first warning bell rang and brought the German back to reality.

A slight blush dusted Gilbert's cheeks when he realized he'd gone into one of his rants- he just couldn't help it! Cars are so awesome! Which is exactly what he told the awaiting Matthew.

"Cars are awesome! Now let's get going!" he shouted. Then he pulled the timid Canadian over to the passenger side and opened his low-set door for him.

Matthew stood, half of him wanting to forget all his doubts and get in the car- the other half screamed at him to run, to get out of there before he got dragged into anything too crazy. Gilbert saw the conflict on the boy's face and patiently waited for him decide what he would do. He silently decided that if the blonde didn't get in the car he would give up on him. His smirk morphed into a sad, withering smile as he convinced himself that in no universe would this sweet, innocent, intriguing boy get in his car.

Just then, Matthew made a spur of the moment decision. _I can do this, _he thought. _This is one thing that's actually in my power! Someone actually notices me and wants to spend time with me- even if it's only for today I'm just going to go with it! _With that, he slid through the awaiting door as quick as he could, before his courage could desert him.

A stunned Gilbert stood staring at the blushing Canadian as he buckled himself in. His dying grin went back to a glowing smile and he slammed the door shut before racing to the driver's side and hopping in. Revving the engine, he backed out of his parking space and slowing drove his car even further into the parking lot.

Amused but confused, Matthew watched the older boy guide his car through the rows of quiet vehicles all around, unable to figure out what exactly his plan could be. Still riding off the surge of self-confidence from before, it only took him a few seconds to build up the nerve to ask-

"What are you planning? You can't get out of the parking lot- the guards won't let you out," Matthew tried raise his voice above the purr of the engine. Even with the extra effort though, he had to repeat the question twice before Gilbert heard it.

'Kesesesese," the German gave a dark laugh. "I have my vays," he said. "You think I vouldn't have found a vay around those dummkopfs by now?"

Matthew gave a small smile- Gilbert definitely had a not-so-positive reputations. It wouldn't surprise Matthew if he had a Plan B, C, and D for getting off campus.

"Alright, I trust you," he whispered. This surprising statement made Gilbert's eyes widen and smile stretch. With a low chuckle, he took a sharp right, driving his car right over the curb and into a field behind the school. Laughing like a mad man, he sped across the plush, green grass, crushing it underneath his fashionable wheels. When he reached the other edge of the large expanse of open space, the needle of his speedometer quickly crept passed 80. The Mustang all but flew over the edge of the field and back onto smooth asphalt. Gilbert vigorously spun the steering wheel with a practiced finesse until the car turned paralleled to the yellow lines before them and- without loosing any speed- shot off once again. He threw a glance over to see how his passenger liked the ride and started to laugh again in giant guffaws.

There sat Matthew, a terrified yet hilarious expression on his face. He had his back pressed as far back into his leather seat as possible and his hands were grasping the armrests for dear life, his nails digging into them like a baby bird would cling to a branch before it's first flight. That mental image popped into Gilbert's mind and he started laughing all over again- that fit Matthew so well! He was just like a baby bird!

The Canadian opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak.

"Mon Dieu! Ralentissez Gilbert! Êtes-vous en train de nous tuer!" Matthew actually shouted, his gaze switching from the road to Gilbert and back.

After a moment of surprised silence (from both boys) Gilbert laughed again. "Kesesese, calm down Birdie," he said in a voice overflowing in pride at his achievement of dragging the shy boy out of his shell- even if for a little bit. "I have no idea vhat you're saying."

"Slow! Down!" Matthew said in a quieter, but just as determined voice.

Gilbert gave a sigh, but the needle gradually dropped lower and lower until it settled at 50."Better?"

"A little," Matthew mumbled as he slowly relaxed his hands and put them in his lap. Once his heart rate got back to normal his eyebrows pulled together. "Birdie?" he asked.

"The awesome me thinks that is the perfect nickname for you!"

Blonde flyaway hairs fell in Matthew's face, covering his eyes. Careful of his odd curl, he took a hair tie off of his wrist and pulled all the fine, slippery strands back. Throwing a curious glance at the boy next to him, Gilbert kept on driving.

"Vhy'd you leave the one curl? Isn't it annoying hanging in your face?" the German asked, unable to subdue his curiosity.

"No reason," Matthew quickly replied as a blush slowly spread across his face. "It's just stubborn."

Gilbert raised a silvery eyebrow, but sensed that the other boy didn't want to talk about that topic anymore. _Oh well, _he thought. _I'll get it out of him eventually._

After a long awkward silence, Matthew finally asked the question that had been nagging him since he heard the snap of his buckle. "Where are we going?"

And the smirk was back. "You'll see."

_**Translations:**_

_**Mon ami- My friend (French)**_

_**Nein- No (German)**_

_**Mes petits- My little ones (French)**_

_**Amigo- Friend (Spanish)**_

_**Verdammt- Fucking (German)**_

_**Schwein- Bastard/Swine (German)**_

_**Mignon petit- Cute little (French)**_

_**Dommkopfs- Idiots (German)**_

_**Mon Dieu! Ralentissez Gilbert! Êtes-vous en train de nous tuer!- Dear God! Slow down Gilbert! Are you trying to kill us! (French)**_

_**Authors Note: Haha! That was a perfectly subtle hinting at both Spamano and GerIta in one fell swoop! Hope you liked it- a date scene is coming up next. And did I get you guys curious about the Ivan-Alfred-Gilbert situation? I have a vague outline about that, but if you guys have ideas about that, then leave them in the comments and I'll try to work some of them in.**_

_**So I realized something and it's bothering me- almost everything in my story is relatively realistic. I mean, nothing is **_**too**_** far fetched. Except the fact that there are so many gay couples in this one place. It's very unlikely, and it's annoying to realize that, but I know you guys are okay with it so it's fine. You guys are okay with it, right? Right?! Oh god, you're not, are you? Oh my god, you guys hate it- I'm a failure. My story is a failure! *Begins to hyperventilate and breathes in paper bag* **_

_**I noticed that my little dash-ling-thingies that I put between scenes haven't been showing up. Sorry, I'll be experimenting with that.**_

_**Once again, if Google Translate acted like a total numnut, then I apologize.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: Do I look rich or important enough to own Hetalia? No I don't.**_

As the Mustang went speeding down the highway, the two boys slipped into comfortable conversation, although it seemed more like a rapid-fire game of 20 Questions. Matthew noticeably asked fewer questions than Gilbert, but he didn't seem to mind.

"So vhat's your favorite food?" Gilbert asked as he abruptly turned his car into a parking lot.

"Pancakes," Matthew said in his normal, quiet voice. The German didn't have to strain too hard to hear what the younger boy said anymore, a fact that brought a faint smile to Matthew's face. "With maple syrup," he added.

"Mine's beer!" Gilbert all but shouted.

"Beer is not a food, Gilbert," the smaller boy corrected.

"But it's so awesome! It doesn't matter vhat it is, it's my favorite. Especially German beer!" Gilbert then continued to rattle off some of the best beers in the world (in his humble opinion) as he jerkily parked. "Ve're here, Birdie!"

The Canadian looked around to see where exactly 'here' was, and gasped in surprise when he saw the building they had stopped in front of: a skating rink. Gilbert had taken him to an ice skating rink. He sat, too surprised to move, as Gilbert exited the car and came around to his side. Silvery eyebrows drew together in concern and self-doubt when the younger boy didn't join him. Being as impatient as he was, Gilbert opened the boy's door and knelt down to look into his shocked face.

"Birdie?"

At hearing his friend's voice, Matthew snapped back to reality. After blinking a few times, he turned to look into those crimson, concerned eyes.

"How in the maple could you have found out I love to skate?" the blonde asked in a hushed voice.

Gilbert cracked a smile and straightened out as Matthew got out of the car. "I have my vays," he elusively answered, silently thanking Francis and his deep understanding of this isolated boy (although where he got the information, Gilbert had no idea). "Now let's go!" And with that, he took the smaller boy's hand and dragged him into the building.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour later Matthew could be found gracefully sliding across the ice, spinning and jumping. The absence of his hair tie left his golden hair whipping around his face as he picked up speed. The weak smile from before grew and grew until it covered his face as he went in circles in the almost empty rink; after all, it was the middle of a school day. At this thought, a giddy rush of adrenaline pushed the innocent boy to go even faster. Gilbert stumbled along, trying to keep up and failing miserably.

"How the hell are you so fucking good at this, Birdie?" the clumsy albino asked as he grabbed for the edge of the rink. "Heilige scheisse! I thought you said you haven't been skating since you were a kid!"

Matthew let out a tinkling laugh, turning around and skating backwards in order to face the flustered German. At the sight of Gilbert desperately grasping the wall, trying not to fall on his ass, the Canadian let out an even louder laugh. Even through all his stress, Gilbert smiled at the sound; he had never heard the shy boy laugh before. Gilbert took the time to just look at Matthew- his willowy, yet strong figure, his gorgeous curly hair, his perfect ass . . .

No! Don't think that way! Gilbert berated himself. You don't even know what this kid thinks of you yet; don't get ahead of yourself!

"I haven't," Matthew answered the question Gilbert barley remembered asking. "But skating has always been easy for me. If you think I'm good at this, you should see me when I play hockey; oh, I haven't played in forever! I used to play with my brother before-"

Violet eyes widened in shock; he had never meant to mention that. Hoping the albino hadn't noticed his slip-up, Matthew spun back around and rocketed off.

Alas, Gilbert had noticed his friend's odd behavior. 'Was he talking about Alfred?' he thought. His brow furrowed in confusion as he kept his eyes trained on the back of the blonde head speeding away from him. Taking a deep breath, the German pushed away from the wall and tried to focus on moving forward.

Left right, left right, left right, left right, Gilbert took up an almost military beat in his mind as he moved his legs back and forth- and he began to steadily move. Giddy with excitement at his achievement, Gilbert forgot why he had risked falling in a very unawesome manner by leaving the safety of the wall, ending up running head-on into the target of his chase.

Both boys fell to the icy floor in a tangled mess. Mathew sat underneath Gilbert, stunned for a moment, until he realized what had happened and began to blush furiously.

"G-g-g-g-gilbert? W-what are you doing?" Matthew stuttered out.

"Vell, you vere acting strange and then you ran away," Gilbert shrugged, like this had been his plan all along. "So vhat's up?"

The Canadian tried to wiggle his arms out from where they were pinned by Gilbert's legs while explaining. "W-well, it's just that . . . I haven't seen my brother in a really long time, a-and I didn't mean to bring him up and I just didn't want to think about all of that right now," the end of his explanation dropped so low Gilbert had to lean in even closer to his face to hear, cause the younger's blush to grow.

The German sat up and crossed his legs once he heard what Matthew had to say. He sat criss-cross on the smaller boy's chest. "Vhy didn't you say so? Ve don't have to talk about anything you don't vant to."

Matthew stopped struggling so he could give his friend a smile. "T-thanks," he whispered. After a moment he continued. "Gilbert, do you think you could, um . . ."

"Vhat Birdie?"

"Could you maybe get off of me please?"

A slight blush matching Matthew's showed up on Gilbert's face. "S-sure," the reddened German said as he wobbled to his feet and offered a hand to the boy still lying on the ice. The younger readily accepted the help and began to balance on the blades of his skates again. Pushing forward, Matthew began to move, this time keeping pace with the much slower Gilbert.

Wracking his brain for something, anything, to talk about before the silence became awkward, Matthew recalled something Gilbert had said back at the school parking lot.

"Hey Gilbert, what did you mean by 'home base garage' earlier when you were talking about your car?" the blonde asked, turning so he skated sideways and faced Gilbert.

Gilbert threw a glance at Matthew, but quickly went back to focusing on his feet after he stumbled and almost fell. "You caught that, huh? Vhat I meant is that my father owns this chain of car garages, Beilschmidt's Reifen. But the one in town is the one we all use for our personal projects, like my schön Mach 1." A far-off look came over Gilbert once he started about his car. After a moment of quiet he asked a question of his own. "Vhat about your dad?"

Looking wary, Matthew slowly answered. "He's the CEO of a bulk plastic company," he faced forward again as he answered, lowering his voice. "They mostly deal with toy companies, like Barbie."

Raising a silvery eyebrow, Gilbert watched Matthew's shoulders grow tense as he shifted his weight to glide forward. 'What just happened?' the German thought, befuddled by his friend's reaction.

"Okay…"

Before the conversation could go any further, Gilbert noticed something. Peeking out at the edge of Matthew's collar, he saw what looked like a Band Aid. As the younger blonde's shirt shifted with each moment it became clear as to exactly what it was.

'A Band Aid on your collar bone means only one thing . . .' Gilbert's thoughts trailed off as his eyes narrowed and an unreasonable anger set in.

"So who gave you the hickey, Birdie?" Gilbert sneered, pushing forward and coming to a stop right in front of his friend.

Stunned, Matthew skidded to a stop right before catapulting into the smirking albino in front of him. "W-what?!" he squeaked.

Before the younger boy could move away, Gilbert reached out and ripped off the Band Aid covering the hickey in question. "C'mon, Birdie. I know vhat a Band Aid on the neck means! Don't treat me li-"

He abruptly stopped when he saw what had laid beneath the protection of the bandage he now held in his hands. Not a hickey like he had thought, although now he wished it were. The slits his eyes had turned into now widened into crimson saucers. There on Matthew's smooth, clear skin was an angry red cigarette burn. Once at a party, a drunk Antonio had burnt Gilbert with one of the stupid things, so he knew what they looked like, and how badly they hurt. Not to mention the one Matthew bore seemed severe, and intentional.

"Matthew, vhat-"

" Non, non, non! Tout allait si bien! J'avais du plaisir! Tu n'étais pas supposé de voir ça-tu n'étais pas supposé de savoir ça! Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas laissée les choses comme elles le sont? Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas me laisser avoir un bon souvenir pour quand tout redeviendra mauvais encore?" Matthew cut him off in rapid French, his voice getting louder and louder until he all but shouted in Gilbert's face. Matthew couldn't stop the panicked outburst. The smaller boy held his hands to his chest, covering up the mark. His shoulders which had stood straight and graceful just a moment ago hunched over like the Canadian wanted to make himself too small to hit.

"Birdie, calm down!" Gilbert said in what he hoped sounded like a comforting voice. "I have no idea vhat you're saying. Now, tell me vhat's going on?" The larger boy placed his hands on Matthew's petite shoulders, causing him to flinch.

But Matthew didn't feel like being calm; he felt like he could explode at any moment.

'No way in hell I can tell Gilbert about this. Maple! What should I do?' Matthew thought. He took a deep breath, reached out his hands and shoved against Gilbert's broad, toned chest with as much force as he could muster.

"How dare you!" was all he could think to yell before he shot off across the glassy surface to the closest exit. With expert, nimble fingers Matthew quickly removed his skates and traded them in for his Chuck Taylor's before running out the door. Glancing down the road the frazzled boy saw a bus just beginning to board passengers and took off at a run.

Out of breath and just in time, Matthew hopped up the steps of the bus, paid fare, and took a seat. As he desperately tried to catch his breath, Matthew glanced out the window to see Gilbert standing in the doorway of the ice skating rink, obviously confused and obviously yelling. The Canadian sat back in his seat and let out a sigh. Bad luck seemed to follow where ever he went.

Why can't I catch a break?!

Resigning himself to a long, uncomfortable ride, Matthew shifted in his seat and tried to tune out the world.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Francis, Antonio and Ivan sat in a row in front of a very scary, very angry Swede. Said Swede actually didn't feel very angry; he just appeared to be so. Truth be told, he was slightly amused by the situation, though he would never admit that to anyone, especially any of his students.

The tense silence in the office seemed to stretch on for an eternity until- finally- Mr. Oxenstierna spoke.

"Wh't were you b'ys th'nking?" the principle said in his thick accent while his eyes bore into the paint splattered boys before him.

As he lifted a blue hand to brush some of his paint-filled hair out of his eyes, Francis spoke with flourish. "Well Monsieur, this morning we were walking down the halls- me and mon ami Antonio, that is- when we noticed how depressingly blank the walls were and took it upon ourselves to brighten the corridor for the betterment of our fellow students learning experience," he said, trying to sound humbled. "Ivan regrettably got in the way of our project and unfortunately got sucked into the decoration process."

This description of events got quite the reaction out of everyone in the room; Antonio covered his paint-smudged mouth and tried to muffle his laughter, Ivan clenched his fists (which happened to be covered in yellow paint) and leaned forward in his seat, a cold, dangerous smile on his face, and Mr. Oxenstierna actually smiled (although none of the boys noticed the small twitch of his lips).

"Alth'gh th't is a c'mend'ble reas'n, you cannot go ar'nd splattering th' school," Mr. Oxenstierna said as he pulled some forms from his desk drawer and began to fill them out. "You two w'll be attending d't'ntion for three weeks 'nd helping clean th' h'lls. Mr. Braginski, y're free to go." With that, he passed the forms across the desk and towards the two grinning hooligans opposite him.

All three boys stood and headed for the door. Right before they left, the principle called out to them.

"You c'n all go h'me for today though. C'n't have you walking around like th't. Also, sch'l ends in about two minutes."

The moment the heavy, wooden door slammed behind them, Antonio and Francis tried to run down the hall and to the exit but were each grabbed by the collar and dragged into a side hallway.

Setting them down on their feet, Ivan glared down at the two, his ominous smile still in place. "I assume you two did this to help that syn suka Gilbert, da?" he asked in his terrifyingly sweet way.

"We don't know what you mean, amigo," Antonio tried to placate the mammoth before them.

"Let me make it simpler," Ivan said, reaching out and grabbing the Spaniard around the neck. Lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall, the Russian leaned in closer before asking, "What has happened to Comrade Matvey?"

"Nothing has happened to him! Calm down!" Francis shouted as he tried to pull Ivan away from the gasping Antonio. "I promise, he is fine!"

Francis's proclamation satisfied Ivan enough to drop Antonio who slid down the wall, but quickly got back to his feet. Glaring at Ivan, he prepared himself for a fight.

"If you are lying, I hurt you, da?" Ivan said before storming away

The two friends looked at each other, fear still lingering in their eyes before matching smiles spread across their faces.

"He is not one to be trifled with," the Frenchman spoke first.

"You said it, amigo," Antonio replied, rubbing his neck. "Let's go wait at Gilbert's so we can hear what happened."

"Oui, let us depart."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ms. Hedervary sat at her desk in her empty classroom, a worried frown on her face. She had been a walking ball of nerves all day, trying to think of how to approach her new promising student about the issue she had discussed with Roderich.

The Hungarian still hadn't decided what she would say when she walked into her fourth period class, but she knew that she wouldn't back out. When her eyes scanned the room and didn't see the quiet Canadian, she had felt relieved, as well as concerned, worried, and scared.

Now school was over and Elizabeta just didn't know what to do!

"I hope he's here tomorrow," she spoke to herself. "Maybe I'll think of what to say before then." With that she lay her head down on her desk and let out a stressed sigh.

_**Translations:**_

_**Heilige scheisse- Holly shit (German)**_

_**Reifen- Tires (German)**_

_**Schon- Beautiful (German)**_

_**Non, non, non! Tout allait si bien! J'avais du plaisir! Tu n'étais pas supposé de voir ça-tu n'étais pas supposé de savoir ça! Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas laissée les choses comme elles le sont? Pourquoi ne pouvais-tu pas me laisser avoir un bon souvenir pour quand tout redeviendra mauvais encore?- No, no, no! Everything was going so well! I was having fun! You weren't supposed to see this- you weren't supposed to know about this! Why couldn't you let things be? Why couldn't you just let me have a good memory to think back on when things get bad again? (French)**_

_**Syn Suka- Son of a bitch (Russian)**_

_**Author's Note: So I'm sorry. I meant for this chapter to be more fluffy, but until I resolve a major issue in a story I can't help myself from going back to the serious stuff- I have so much fun writing intense scenes. So maybe after all the major stuff is dealt with I'll give you guys a few fluff pieces- or maybe even a lemon or two? What do you guys think? What do you want?**_

_**Side note- I got a beta reader! And she's amazing! So a huge shout-out to Princess Twila.**_

_**Lastly, I apologize if I screwed up Sweden's accent.**_


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